


Why do I feel like I'm fighting for the wrong side?

by Ebm36



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11516199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebm36/pseuds/Ebm36
Summary: Missing scene - End of ep 6 / s3 (or Athos' 6th sense)Thank you, dear Beth for your help and support.All remaining errors are mine.♥♥♥





	1. How many, d'Artagnan?

       

 

        It was an almost chaste kiss but the promise behind it was so overwhelming that Athos felt his chest swelling with love and hope. There was something shy and hesitating in it, belying the stubborn and strong character of the young woman. It was so refreshing. It had nothing to do with the devouring, desperate and almost feral kisses of Milady, it had nothing to do with anything he had known until this day.

        He closed his eyes when Sylvie broke the kiss and stepped back a little although not letting go of his arms. He breathed in her heady perfume, a mixture of ash, wood and plants he couldn't identify, chamomile perhaps, or lime tree flowers. He buried his hands into her thick curls and drew her for another kiss letting his fingers roam down over her neck, her smooth shoulders, then pause on her throat where he felt her heart whose fast beating seemed to match his. She was a balm to his tired mind. He suddenly felt exhausted, this insane day leaving a terrible weight on his shoulder and a bitter taste in his mouth. He was surprised when she turned her head and escaped his tentative kiss. He opened his eyes marvelling at the sight of her dark intelligent irises. No wickedness in them, no anger, no suspicion. Just love, affection, a glimpse of mischievousness and ... worry.

        He frowned slightly.

 

“Where are you, Captain?” She murmured letting her forefinger slide down his nose in a childish and fond gesture.

 

        He looked at her in the dying light, the golden rays of the sunset giving her skin stunning shades of bronze.

 

“What do you mean?” He answered his voice a little husky, embarrassed at letting someone read him so easily.

 

“Your mind is with someone else.” She assessed with a charming pout, cocking her head to look into his eyes.

 

        He averted his gaze and felt himself blushing even if the person in his thoughts couldn’t put their budding love at risk.

 

“Tell me.” She whispered with worry, stepping back.

 

        He closed the gap between them and grabbed her hands.

 

“There is no one else, Sylvie, I swear.” He told her in a firm voice, plunging his pale eyes into hers and trying to express with this mere look all his sincerity.

 

“Which one of them?” Sylvie asked with a half smile.

 

“Am I that predictable?” He snorted with a curl of his upper lip which she couldn’t help but kiss briefly, lingering half a second on the small scar.

 

“You, I don’t know, them, I am sure. So which one of them has problems you have to solve?”

 

        This time, the sound which escaped his mouth was close to a laugh, but a sad one and she squeezed his fingers.

 

“Go, Captain. Do your duty and … come back as soon as you can, even if it’s tomorrow, even if it’s next week, just come back.” She smiled with trust in her eyes.

 

        He gathered her in his arms and murmured, his face buried in her perfumed hair:

 

“Thank you, I l…”

 

        She pulled away and laid a finger on his lips.

 

“Go.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis would call it a message from God, Athos called it a sense of foreboding.  As he ran along the high walls of _Le Louvre,_ crossed the Seine and made his way through a crowd of dark worn out clothes sheltering the misery of Paris, he thought of the strange day they had lived and of his too fast departure from the garrison a few hours earlier.

        He realised that he had run the whole day. He had run towards something or someone,  through rooms, corridors and angry hungry crowds,  between the carefully cropped hedges of the palace gardens and, at the end he had run away from a friend in need while selfishly running towards his love, perhaps his future.

        This thought made him quicken his pace, his sword beating painfully against his legs, his uniform, although unbuttoned like his shirt, making his body sweat heavily, a sweat which trickled down his spine in cold drops. He swept his hair away from his eyes in an irritated gesture. _La Rue du Bac_ was already dark when he arrived. The time spent in Sylvie’s company had seemed so short that he was almost surprised to see the torches lit in the courtyard of the garrison and a warm glow coming from the window of the refectory.

        He was breathless when he rushed through the gates and saw a sobbing figure huddled at the bottom of the stairs. He carefully approached and sat down on the step.

 

“Constance, what’s the matter?” Athos murmured as if trying to appease a frightened animal.

 

        Constance raised her face, wet with tears. She tried to wipe them but they just continued to fall in a seemingly endless stream. She tried to breathe properly and, hiccuping, she began to explain.

 

“I … He … I …”

 

“Hey, Constance, calm down.” He took her hands in his and kept them against his chest. He looked around them and noticed that the courtyard was deserted. “Where are the others?”

 

“A … Aramis and P … Porthos … I think they … they are … at the Wren. The cadets are in the mess … Morvan has brought two jackrabbits … and they have roasted them.” She sniffled and wiped her face again and  made a pause. “I’m angry.”

 

“Oh?” Athos breathed out, surprised by her blazing eyes.

 

        Suddenly, he realised that she had spoken of everyone, except …

 

“Constance. Where is d’Artagnan?” He managed to articulate, but his voice was unsteady.

 

 _But, If something had happened she wouldn’t be angry. What has he done?_ He thought, trying to put things together.

 

        She didn’t answer but her eyes looked up at the balcony.

 

“ I … I don’t understand.”

 

“He is upstairs, in your office and he doesn’t want to see me or anyone.”

 

        She burst into tears and Athos, after a second of hesitation, clumsily took her into his arms. She clutched at his shirt, sobbing helplessly.

 

“He … he was so … He is not himself … he was so …” She cried into his neck.

 

“Shh … I think I know why … I will go and …” Athos tried to soothe her, his hand drawing circles on her back.

 

“I’m sorry Athos.”

 

        She straightened and he gave her a handkerchief to dry her tears.

 

“Don’t. I knew something was wrong. Go back to your apartments. I will talk to him.”

 

“He … he said … that he didn’t want to see anyone … even me ... He sounded so angry, so … sad … ” She stammered, her nose in the crumpled handkerchief.

 

“He will have no choice but to see me … He is keeping me away from by much needed bed.”

 

        He felt a warm huff of breath on his chest when Constance couldn't help but laugh at his dry humour. Athos helped her to stand up and kept her hand until she looked more steady. He bent down and kissed her fingers, in a perfect imitation of Aramis which made her smile again  through her tears. She righted her skirt and tried to look strong.

 

“Now, go and rest a little. You’re a Musketeer, aren’t you? So, be strong. Don’t worry, I will talk to him and stay with him, even if it’s the whole night. I know how it works when you try to drown in a bottle.” Athos reassured her.

 

“You … you knew?”

 

        He took her hands again, bending his head until they were almost forehead against forehead.

 

“I must apologise, Constance. I knew and I fled. I was selfish. He needed to speak and I abandoned him.”

 

“Athos, you fled for a good reason, didn’t you?” She said in her usual tone, lifting a hand to brush his cheek with her warm fingers.

 

        He felt himself blushing again and he lowered his gaze.

 

“Athos, you deserve happiness. She is good for you.”

 

          He just nodded before letting go of her hands. He watched her go to the room she shared with d’Artagnan. There, a hand on the knob, she turned around and looked back at him. A crashing sound startled them. She was about to rush to the office but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand and a reassuring nod. When she disappeared into her lodgings, he breathed in deeply and started to climb the stairs wearily.

         The door was slightly ajar and it surprised him. He tried to push it open but he felt a resistance. He tried again and finally, producing a noisy scraping he managed to move whatever the young man had used to block the entry and he peered into the room. There was no light and it seemed that d'Artagnan had dragged a heavy chest to block the door. Athos wished Porthos was with him, especially his strong shoulders.

 

“D’Artagnan? Are you alright?” He whispered.

 

        A burst of laughter answered and he had to step back swiftly when something came to shatter onto the door.

 

“D’Artagnan, I’m coming  in. Now.”

 

        He took a step back and with a deep breath, he made his right shoulder painfully collide with the hard panel, pushing with all his strength. The trunk moved enough to let him slip into the room, narrowly avoiding another flying glass. He leaned on the wall beside the door waiting for his vision to adjust to the dim light. The last rays of the setting sun threw a reddish glower through the high window. D’Artagnan sat at his desk, clearly very drunk, a crazy glimmer in his eyes, and a wolfish smile on his lips. The strange light gave his face something devilish. Athos slowly made his way through the mess on the floor, papers, shards of glass, his inkwell which was slowly spilling its contents, a shattered bottle of wine which added a new shade to the awful tableau.

 

“Ah, here is ou’ good C’ptain.” D’Artagnan shouted raising a half empty bottle above his head. “Enjoyed you’ ‘vening, C’ptain? Was she … hey … you know … wha’ I mean?” He finished with a wink.

 

        Hearing the slurring in the young man’s voice made Athos wonder how many bottles he had emptied. He stayed silent and gingerly approached the desk.

 

“Cheers, C’tain!” D’Artagnan shouted bringing the bottleneck to his lips.

 

        He managed to swallow a gulp of wine but a flow of garnet liquid missed his mouth and it trickled down his chin soaking his already dirty shirt. Athos slowly and carefully tried to snatch the bottle from his hand but the young man was too fast and he quickly pressed it against his chest, cradling it as if it was a baby, humming out of tune.

 

“How many, d’Artagnan?”

 

        The young Musketeer jumped. He  had probably already forgotten Athos’ presence. He stood up, swaying dangerously and came to face his captain, close enough to make Athos smell his sour breath.

 

“Are you concern’ sir?”

 

“I am.” Athos replied looking into the dark teary irises.

 

“I thought you we’ mo’ interess’ in a dress and a pair o’ long legs.” D’Artagnan answered with a dirty smile which made Athos want to slap him. “I needed … I needed …”

 

        D’Artagnan’s face contorted again in a grimacing laugh.

 

“I need’ a drink. See, I learnt … from my … perfect mentor. ” He giggled drinking again from the bottle which he placed vertically above his mouth to lick the last drop before throwing it angrily against the wall behind Athos’ head.

   

        Athos had frozen. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. The expression in his young brother’s eyes broke his heart.

 

“D’Artagnan …” He tried softly raising a trembling hand.

 

“Don’t!” D’Artagnan snarled. All traces of laugh had vanished from his face and his eyes were blazing. “Don’t you dare!” He jabbed his forefinger into Athos’ chest.

 

“I’m sorry. I should have …”

 

“You should have but you haven’t.” He shouted, his speech clearer, as if the alcohol had suddenly drained his blood.

 

        Athos’ breath stuttered to a halt. He didn’t need the young man to remind him of his guilt. It was a weight he knew too well.

 

“I am here now. Talk to me, please.” He murmured reaching a hand out.

 

“It’s too late.” D’Artagnan replied, his jaw clenched. “Tomorrow, I will leave the garrison.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“If being a Musketeer means killing innocent people, I must leave.”

 

“You killed a man and saved a woman!” Athos shouted angrily.

 

“I killed a victim of war and I killed two nuns!” D’Artagnan replied his voice breaking.

 

“It was your duty to protect the Queen, and your victim of war killed the two nuns!” Athos shouted.

 

        D’Artagnan froze and his expression changed, an inscrutable look in his eyes. He stepped back a little and suddenly, he threw his fist into Athos’ belly, sending him against the wall where his head bounced with a sickening sound.

 

TBC


	2. I can’t do this anymore, Athos.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to add a "tissue warning"? lol

           

 

            Athos’ vision blackened and he fell in a heap, sliding down the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and a myriad of silver butterflies invaded his inner eyelids. He sluggishly lifted a hand to touch the back of his skull where a bump had started to swell and he winced. His fingers came back covered in blood. He frowned and it took him a few seconds to come to his senses. A blurred d’Artagnan swayed above him and he had to blink several times to clear his vision.

 

“Oh my God, oh my God.” D’Artagnan repeated a hand clapped on his mouth. “Athos, I’m sorry …”

 

            Athos stood up with difficulty, leaning on the wall. He looked at d’Artagnan with a blank expression. He hadn’t expected his little brother’s blow. He had never seen him in this state, he had never been the target of his frustration, of his anger. A mixture of feelings suffocated him as he stood, his back against the cold stone, his hands in front of him in an almost defensive gesture. Which one of these feelings was the strongest, was it anger, shock, guilt, fear, remorse, sadness? He couldn’t tell. He slowly stepped sideways until he could reach the door, ignoring the young man’s pleading look.

 

“I’am sorry, d’Artagnan, I failed you. I’m sorry. I will send Constance … I … Shouldn’t …”

 

“Athos!”

 

            The cry made him look up, a movement which increased his dizziness. D’Artagnan had both his hands raised towards him, his dark wide eyes searching his.

 

“Please.” He murmured. “Please.”

 

            Athos stopped.

 

“I will fetch Constance.” He repeated stubbornly, in a neutral tone hiding the tremors in his voice.

 

“Please.”

 

            It was a plea now, and d’Artagnan took a step forwards.

 

“Don’t leave me.”

 

            He sounded like a lost child and Athos thought that he was still so young and so … drunk. He slowly approached him managing a small reassuring smile.

 

“You need Constance, she …”

 

“I need you. Don’t leave me again, please, I’m so sorry. Oh Christ, I am drunk.”

 

            He put his head in his hand and swayed again trying to stop the floor from moving.

 

“Obviously.” Athos drawled.

 

            He hadn’t expected the blow but the next move surprised him in the same way. He was even ready to step back out of reach but the way his young friend’s mouth curled downwards, the way his nostrils flared, his eyes shone and his chin trembled convinced him to stay immobile.

            D'Artagnan lunged at him, threw his arms around his shoulders and began to sob into his neck. Athos was taken aback but he slowly closed his own arms around the slender body.

 

“Sorry, Athos, I’m so sorry.”

 

“And terribly drunk.” Athos muttered in the lank hair, slowly moving his hand up and down the shaking back until the young man pulled back a little. His teary eyes unfocused, he reached out a trembling hand towards Athos’ head and he clumsily ran his fingers through the man’s hair in a typical drunkard gesture. Athos took a step back to escape the touch.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“I hurt you. I hurt everybody. I fail everybody.”

 

“Stop that. Come on, you need to calm down and rest until the effects of the alcohol that your body absorbed fade.” Athos said using his most big brotherly tone.

 

            D’Artagnan closed his eyes and lowered his forehead onto his Captain’s shoulder.  Athos sighed rolling his eyes, and he cupped the back of his friend’s head, gently scratching his scalp.

 

“God, I’m ridiculous.” The young Musketeer murmured into Athos’ shirt.

 

            The Captain smiled fondly and led him towards his bed.

 

“Come on. First, you need to drink.”

 

            D’Artagnan snorted, clumsily lowering himself onto the narrow bed.

 

“Water, I mean.” Athos smiled.

 

            He took off his jacket with a relieved sigh and hung it on the forged grid at the foot of his bed, then he slowly lit a few candles.

 

“Oh nooo!” D’Artagnan moaned when he realised the extent of the mess he had created.

 

            Throwing himself onto the floor, he began to pick up papers and shattered glass with his trembling hands. Athos knelt beside him with a resigned sigh and seized his wrists to stop him, however two seconds too late. D’Artagnan whimpered when a shard deeply cut his palm. Athos immediately made him stand up and led him towards the basin of water on his dressing table. He plunged the young man’s hand in it then wrapped a towel around the damaged palm.

 

“Now, will you obey my orders? I know how it works when you think that a bottle is your best friend. Let me help you, then we can talk. We have the whole night.”

 

“But Constance…”

 

“I will reassure her as soon as you feel well enough to stop breaking things or adorning your skin with new scars.” He answered with a slight wink. “Take off your boots and lay down. Now!”

 

            D’Artagnan obeyed and, at last, he calmed down. He watched Athos beginning to clear the floor by pushing everything into a corner of the room. He snorted.

 

“If Constance could see you … she … Constance ...”

 

            He suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth and his eyes widened as new tears began to fall down his cheek. A nausea burnt his throat and he swallowed his saliva to stop it. Athos could see his Adam’s apple almost jumping from the effort.

 

“Hey, you will be alright. Calm down.” Athos soothed as he handed him his last intact glass filled with fresh water. “Do you feel sick?” He asked as he watched the young man with concern, a frown drawing a deep crease on his forehead.

 

            D’Artagnan shook his head and it made him sway, but he managed to tame the nausea. He nervously wiped his cheeks and looked up at Athos with a sad expression.

 

“I can’t do this anymore, Athos.” He mumbled, his chin trembling.

 

“Do what?” Athos murmured more and more worried. “Move a little, please, I need to sit down.”

 

            Athos sat down wearily and tried to settle comfortably on the narrow mattress, crossing his legs at the ankles. He leaned on the wall but hissed when his skull made contact with the stone. D’Artagnan jumped and looked at him frowning.

 

“You are in pain?”

 

            It was more a statement than a question.

 

“I’m fine. So, now I will listen to you.” Athos told the young man, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture which meant that he wouldn’t talk about himself anymore.

 

            An awkward silence settled and Athos wondered if his young friend would speak again. He let his mind wander, reliving the events of the past day, while his eyes followed the spirals of the forged grid until he felt the need to close them.

 

“I … What I did today … I …” D’Artagnan murmured at last.

 

            He sounded more lucid but his voice was still weak.

 

“You only did your duty.”

 

“Let me speak. I made a mistake. I was too naïve and I tried to help a murderer. I should have seen that he was not only mad but also cruel and as wild as an animal.”

 

“You …”

 

“I was fooled. He killed the nuns, Athos, he killed the nuns because of my stupidity.”

 

            He finished his sentence in a cry, his voice breaking, and he curled forwards, his arms around his belly. His shoulders shook and it broke Athos’ heart. Of course a large amount of alcohol was still running through his veins but what he had just said was no more than what Athos himself had thought when they had discovered the bodies. He had tried to hide it, but d’Artagnan could read him so easily.

            He put a tentative hand on the young man’s back and when he felt that there wouldn’t be any violent reaction he curled an arm around his shoulders, shifting a little closer.

 

“You have been fooled, I admit it, but not because of your stupidity. You have been fooled because of your kindness, your sensitivity, because you are a caring person.”

 

“But a bad Musketeer.” D’Artagnan mumbled, the words muffled by his hair and his hands where his face was now buried.

 

            The blood-soaked towel had slipped but it seemed that the bleeding had stopped.

 

“Do you think Porthos a bad Musketeers?” Athos asked gently.

 

            The young man raised his wet face, his bloodshot eyes searching his mentor’s pale irises in the flickering orange light.

 

“Why do you ask? Of course he is an excellent Musketeer!”

 

“Then maybe he isn’t a caring person ...” Athos continued with a soft smile.

 

“Of course he is!” D’Artagnan said with a shocked voice.

 

“You can’t be a good Musketeer if you are not sensitive. Caring is a quality.”

 

“But being naive is a flaw.” D’Artagnan continued, sniffling nervously.

 

            Athos tightened his grip.

 

“We need  people like you.”

 

“I failed you.”

 

“You failed us by saving the Queen? How can I persuade you that you did perfectly well? I agree, this man was a victim of war but he had to be stopped and you stopped him.”

 

“I know, but … I understand his behaviour. He had nothing, the war destroyed his mind, he was rotting in a jail and what did the royal family show him? Gold and gems, silk and brocades, food in abundance. How could he bear that after what he had seen while fighting for his country? A country which has let him down. It’s so unfair.”

 

“You saw the same things and you didn’t become a murderer.” Athos whispered drawing his young brother even closer.

 

“When … When I found him in the church … his face, his expression … he looked like a scared child … his tears … But I should have known that he was dangerous … His eyes … I should have read it in his eyes …” He made a pause obviously trying to find answers in his foggy mind. “I read it in his eyes, in fact, I read it but I didn’t want to see it. Oh, Athos, I was so stupid.”

 

“You weren’t, you just listened to your heart. I’m proud of you, as your friend, as your brother and as your Captain, but please, don’t do that anymore.”

 

“What?” D’Artagnan asked, his head lolling sleepily against Athos’ shoulder.

 

“Don’t scare your wife again by emptying bottles to find answers which are not in them. Don’t scare me again like that.”

 

            D’Artagnan laughed but it was closer to a sob and Athos felt his body shaking against him. He ran his thumb over the trembling shoulder until he heard the young man’s breathing change.

 

“I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me.” Athos added gently, not sure that he had been heard.

 

            A soft rasp at the door made him look up.

 

“How is he?”

 

“Fine, Aramis.”

 

“And you?”

 

“Fine.” Athos answered trying to hide a grimace of pain.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Of course, but be quiet.” Athos whispered. “Constance?”

 

“With Porthos. You know how he manages to calm desperate ladies.” Aramis laughed quietly.

 

“By wrapping them into his big bear embrace.”

 

“Of course.” Aramis winked.

 

            He slowly approached the bed, frowning when he noticed the state of Athos’ floor, then he sat down on the chair next to his friends.

 

“Athos, there is blood on your neck.” He stated suspiciously.

 

            Athos lifted a hand to feel the bump on his skull.

 

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

 

“He did it?” Aramis asked with a nod towards the sleeping young man.

 

“The wall did it.” Athos smiled softly, a big yawn ending the discussion.

 

“Alright. Try to sleep, but tomorrow you won’t escape my auscultation. Do you wish me to take this young husband to his wife?”

 

“Better to take the wife to her husband and I will find another place to sleep.” Athos whispered absentmindedly running his thumb over his little brother’s shoulder.

 

“You are the most caring person I know.” Aramis said with a fond expression in his dark eyes.

 

            Athos breathed out a laugh.

 

“Did I say something funny?”

 

“No, nothing. Go and fetch the desperate wife.”

 

            Aramis nodded and left the room walking like a cat to be as silent as possible, but d’Artagnan stirred anyway and he opened his eyes.

 

“I’m sure you could find a better place in Saint-Antoine than beside me.” He mumbled.

 

            Athos ruffled his hair with a bright smile.

 

“Sleep, cheeky boy.” He whispered. “One day you will be the greatest of us all.” He added for himself as his brother was already carried away by a deep sleep.

 

THE END

 


End file.
